


Pudding Dreams

by doctorbuffypotterlock79



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Fluff without Plot, M/M, Pudding, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, literally no plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 12:08:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19745458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorbuffypotterlock79/pseuds/doctorbuffypotterlock79
Summary: Brock gets his wisdom teeth out and Jose watches him. Literally no plot, just fluff. Sue me.





	Pudding Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> So Brock had his wisdom teeth out and my ass wrote this super-short nonsense in less than an hour. Honestly it was a fun break from the extreme angst of the current Powerless chapter I'm working on. Please leave comments or feedback if you enjoyed this pudding nonsense.

“Gimme puddin’,” Brock slurs, trying to get up from the couch. 

“Sit your ass down and let me bring it to you!” José yells from the kitchen. 

He grabs the chocolate pudding container and a spoon and reviews his patience levels before bringing it to Brock. He knows by now that Brock gets very worried and needy when he’s sick, and José wouldn’t have come if he couldn’t deal with it. But goddamn is Brock impatient over his pudding. 

Brock is stretched out on the couch with Henry at his feet, ice on his swollen cheeks that seem extremely painful to José but that Brock says are totally numb. 

“Here you go, boo.” He hands Brock the pudding and takes the ice pack, grinning as Brock claps his hands and chants “Puddin’” like a small child. 

José sits in the chair next to him, watching the Netflix show Brock picked out. He’s never heard of it, but he’s gotten sucked in over the past hour, and yeah, there’s probably better things he could be doing than watching a grown man stare at pudding with actual heart eyes, but there’s nowhere else he’d really rather be. 

“I wan’ p’zza.” 

“You can’t have it. Eat your damn pudding.”

Brock shoves a giant spoonful of chocolate into his mouth before sighing in pleasure. “Puddin’,” he moans agreeably, the pizza already forgotten. 

“Maybe I should’ve given you pudding in bed to hear you moan more often,” José says coyly, as Brock’s reply is too garbled to be understood. 

Brock eats his pudding while he babbles about all sorts of things, some discernible, some not. José manages to make out the words pineapple, dinosaur, chicken nugget, and ghost (or is it toast?), but he nods along regardless. Honestly, he knows how worried Brock was about the whole thing and he’s just glad he’s okay, 5-minute slurred rant about why he should have a pet monkey aside. 

Brock’s talking starts to slow and José notices him forcing his eyes back open every few seconds. 

“You doin’ okay?”

“Mmm. Sleepy.”

“So sleep, baby.”

“Stay wi’ me?”

“Of course I’ll stay. I’m not leaving your ass to break your neck trying to stand up.”

Brock pats the cushion beneath his head and José realizes what he means and does it anyway. He lifts Brock up and plops on the cushion, trying not to smile as he lays the older man back down and puts Brock’s head in his lap. 

He runs his fingers through the soft curls and Brock smiles dreamily, and even though it’s probably just because of the drugs, some stupid part of José is glad he can still make Brock happy like this. 

“Anything else you need?”

Brock shakes his head. 

“Get some sleep. You’ll feel better.” 

He looks up at José, and his eyes seem clear for the first time. “I wuv you.”

Then he’s asleep. 

_It’s probably just the drugs talking_ , José tells himself. 

But he still says it back.


End file.
